I got a tip from my supervisor Chris that the major account rep position I had been wanting had recently just become available. It seems that Gracie, the little 68 year old Jewish lady that originally had the position; went on another one of her drinking binges and apparently got hit by another bus. Since this time Gracie was going to be in traction for at least a year, the position was pretty much up for grabs. It’s no secret that I had been after this position for a while. However, since the owner of the company Mr. Randall is known for being somewhat distant and cold, it makes him extremely hard to warm up to. Every single morning for the past 2 years, whenever I pass him in the hall, I always smile really big and say “Good Morning Mr. Randall! How are you doing on this beautiful day?” And every single morning for the past 2 years, he just looks at me with a blank face and says absolutely nothing. Although once I got excited because I thought he was finally waving hi; but as it turns out there was just a stupid fly in the hall.
After years of trying to get into Mr. Randall’s good graces, this past Friday God finally threw me a bone. It turned out that his wife Mrs. Randall was in the city for the day doing some shopping, and decided to drop by the office to take her husband to lunch. Although I had never really met Mrs. Randall before, she seemed like a pretty nice woman. Unlike her husband, she actually smiled at me as I walked by. That’s was when it finally hit me. I thought “Wait a minute! Everyone knows the easiest way to a person’s heart is through their family. If I could somehow find away to make Mrs. Randall love me; Gracie’s position would no doubt then be mine.” Since I saw that she was expecting, it was easy. I’d just surprise her with a really nice gift for the baby. What lady wouldn’t get all mushy over that sh*t? The idea was dare I say genius. Why didn’t I even think of it before? Since they were going out to lunch I realized I had about an hour to work my magic. So with minutes to spare, I hit the streets of Manhattan.
I stumbled across this really nice baby store on 5th avenue. All though the prices were way more expensive than I originally thought; I figured it really didn’t matter. After all, I was investing in my own future. The saleswoman immediately sprung into action helping me to find the perfect gift. Shopping for wealthy people can be somewhat tricky. Mainly because you never want to get the wrong thing and come off as cheap. Sometimes you have to spend big in order to play in the big leagues. With that said, I spared no expense and decided to go with the most expensive breast pump in the entire place. Talk about state of the art. This thing even had a special little feature to massage the tit after the baby was done. I literally thought of everything. Who cares that it cost more than my damn computer? Because of my gift, Mrs. Randall and her child would now have a bond that would last for the rest of their lives; and in my book that’s priceless. I had them gift wrap it beautifully, and also bought a dozen pink and blue balloons to give it that extra “wow” affect. It was so huge by the time she was done that I could barely even get through the door.
Heading back to the office, I could hardly wait to see the looks on their faces when I walked in with my gift. When Mr. Randall sees his wife all overwhelmed with emotion from her new breast pump, he would have no choice but to finally take notice of me. As a result, Gracie’s position would definitely be mine. Walking down the street I also thought, “Hey, wouldn’t it be so cool if after this, Mr. Randall invited me out to the house one Sunday afternoon for a round of golf?” Being that I was never all that close to my father growing up, I imagined “What if Mr. Randall even became that father figure in my life that I always dreamed of? Wouldn’t that be incredible? I could go with them on their little family vacations to the Hamptons; and even call him whenever I needed a little fatherly advice on dating situations or early detection of STD’s. Believe it or not but I actually got a little misty eyed just thinking about it; and wondering just how long it would be before I could start calling him pops. Most other sales reps would never even dream of spending three hundred dollars on a gift for their boss’s wife. But, I guess that’s what separates losers like them, from ingenious business mavericks such as my pops and I. In life it just never pays to be cheap. Sometimes in you have to just take a risk in order to win big.
I just happened to walk back into the lobby at the same time that Mr. & Mrs. Randall were kissing each other goodbye. This was finally my big moment of truth. There in front of the entire office, I walked over with the gift and balloons in hand, and exclaimed “Excuse me Mrs. Randall, I’m sorry to disturb you. My name is Brett Sanders and I’m a sales rep here. And I just wanted to congratulate you on this very special time in your life. This gift comes from the bottom of my heart. And don’t bother thanking me, because we’re family here. That’s just what we do.” To my surprise, the entire room went completely silent. And for nearly two minutes no one absolutely said a word. Somewhat confused, I took the breast pump out of the bag so she could see it, and explained “I wasn’t sure if it was a boy or a girl, so I just got something you could use regardless. From the look of things you obviously don’t have long. Have you already started picking out names?” At this point Mrs. Randall’s face turned almost fire engine red. Still not catching on, said to her “I imagine you’re probably too over whelmed with emotion to speak right now.” At that moment Mr. Randall just looked at me like I was the plague and exclaimed “My wife isn’t pregnant.”
Talk about awkward. That was so not the response I had expected to hear. Freaking out inside, I thought “How the hell was I supposed to know? Her stomach is so big she almost looks overdue.” I couldn’t believe what I had just done. I was so embarrassed that I just wanted to melt. Not to mention that by now it was so quite on the floor that you could literally hear everyone’s heart beating. At a complete loss for words, and about four months too late to yell “April Fools”; the only thing left I could think to say was “Wow. Uhm…are you guys by chance planning to have kids anytime soon?” With fire shooting from his eyes, Mr. Randall very calmly replied “No. We’re actually not.” I thought, “F*ck!! This is not definitely going as planned. I guess there goes the father son sack race at the next company picnic “ At this point literally grasping at straws, I responded with “Uhm…would you perhaps believe me if I told you I was Psychic?”
With everyone on the floor still pretty much standing there in shock; I figured it would probably be best if I just left early for the day. With my head down as low as it could go, as I walked by my supervisor on the way to the elevator; he looked at me and remarked, “But even if she was pregnant Brett. A breast pump? Really?”
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Sometimes I swear that my parents must’ve lost a bet to the gods the day I was born; because no one on earth could possibly have any worst luck than mine. Case and point; last Friday night after having one too many vodka gimlets in the city, I decided to take the A train back home to Brooklyn. Even though the A train is notorious for having somewhat shady characters late at night; I figured “Hell I’m a guy, what’s the worst that can happen to me?”
It was about 3am, so the trains were all pretty much a ghost town by now. When I stumbled on to the A, I immediately noticed a group of about 6 girls huddled over on the other side of the car. Judging by the fact that sitting there together, you would’ve sworn that you were looking at the Wu Tang Clan and with voices just as deep; I think it’s pretty safe to assume that they were all lesbians. In fact, I’d never seen so many manly looking women before in my life. Between all of their work boots; their baggy jeans sagged low over their boxers; and the way they pulled their Yankee caps low as they each took turns spitting their favorite Jay Z lyrics; it suddenly donned on me that they actually kind of looked more masculine than me. Sitting there in my skinny jeans, new white espadrilles, and my yellow metro-sexual v-neck I just got from American Apparel; I think it was pretty darn obvious who the bitch was on that train. With that said I just leaned back in my seat, and continued listening to The Best of Mariah Carey on my Iphone. I’ll tell you; absolutely no one belts out a ballad like that lady.
When the train made a stop at Canal, to my surprise another big group of lesbians got on. Believe it or not, but this group was even more masculine than the first. Actually this group of women was so big and Black, that my first thought was “Wow, there must be a Biggie Smalls lookalike conventions in town.” In fact, these new bitches were so butch that they actually made the first group look like The Pussy Cat Dolls. Several of them even had goatees, which really f*cked me up. At 3 am when you’re already tipsy, the last thing you need to see is a bunch of women looking like Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes. It took me a few extra minutes to process it. Now normally, it would be every guy’s fantasy to be stuck on a subway car at three in the morning surrounded by large groups of lesbians. However, this was most certainly not one of those occasions.
Apparently, the two groups of lesbians must’ve been some kind of rivals. Because moments after the 2nd group got on, there were lots of dirty looks followed by several nasty comments coming from both sides. Eventually things escalated because before I knew it, both sides had jumped up and began squaring off right there in the center of the train. Just as I’m really starting to get into Dream Lover; I looked up and suddenly everyone is now holding knives, bats, and brass knuckles around their fists. One girl even whipped out a big 12 inch black dildo with metal spikes around the head. I thought “What the f*ck is she going to do with that monstrosity?” Truthfully, it kind of scared me a little. I thought to myself, “I hope to God these sex toy companies are not using “real” models when they come up with these sizes. Because if there are really guys out there that big; then my ass is in a heap of trouble.” It would certainly explain why after all these years, women never seem to get a call back the next day.
Suddenly from out of nowhere, the prettiest one of the bunch who looked like a cross between Marsha Warfield and Refrigerator Perry threw the first punch. The next thing you know the entire train broke into complete pandemonium. Meanwhile here I am, a little 5’6 Black guy, trapped in the middle of a pack of big lesbian gang bitches out for blood. I had never seen women fight like this before in my life. Truthfully, men either. There were chin checks, body blows, and bitches hitting bitches with bats. For a second there, I actually thought I was watching that movie The Warriors in 3D (The Deleted Scenes). The only thing missing was the little guy with the freaky voice clinking two bottles between his fingers. It was pretty clear that the first group of lesbians were no match for the second. They did their best to hold them off; but as soon as the train came to a stop at Hoyt Street, they decided to make a run for it. The second group took off running right after them. Now here I am, still completely floored, and thinking “Okay, did I just stumble on some kind of secret underworld war zone?” Who knows; maybe lesbians always fight each other to the death, late at night on the trains when no one else is around? As far as we know, this could’ve been going on since the beginning of time. I could hardly wait to go write a letter to the people from True Blood and tell them damn those werewolves. If they really want to up it a notch, they need to introduce a pack of butch lesbians on the show. Talk about scary; those poor vampires wouldn’t knew what hit them.
Since Hoyt was also my stop, I got off the train too. Walking up the stairs, I thought “Damn why didn’t I take pictures, because no one is ever going to believe what I just saw.” Still giggling to myself, I pulled out my phone to send off a tweet. Just as I was pressing send, I heard a voice yell out “There goes another one! Get em’!” When I looked up, I saw the 2nd group of lesbians running towards my direction. Still a bit tipsy, I thought “Wow, it’s still not over! Let me get phone ready so I can record it this time.” Just as I turned around ready to push record; I realized that for some crazy reason, they all had now surrounded me; hyena style. Somewhat confused, I explained “Oh I’m sorry. There’s obviously some kind of confusion here. I wasn’t with that group of girls just now.” The leader of the pack all of a sudden stepped up and said “Don’t try to sell out yo’ crew now! I’m sick of you bitches always talkin’ shit at the club!” It suddenly hit me what was going on here. I quickly exclaimed, “Wait, you have this all wrong! Really! I’m not a lesbian.” At that point, all of the girls literally fell out on the floor laughing. The leader then replied “Bitch please! You may not be the most masculine one of the bunch. But I know a tired ass dike when I see one. Y’all get that bitch!!”
Thinking fast; I quickly socked the smallest one in the eye who looked just like Gary Coleman, and then took off running. So now here I am, running for my life through the streets of Brooklyn, with a pack of angry butch lesbians hot on my ass. This was definitely not the way I wanted to end my Friday night. The next thing you know, I tripped over one of my damn espadrilles; and before I knew it they were all standing over me kicking and punching me in the side. And just for the record, lesbians are extremely heavy handed. Next, a few of them held down my arms and legs so that I couldn’t get up. Suddenly, the leader steps up and yells “It’s time to really punish this bitch now! Break out Big Brutus!!” Now of course I’m thinking “Uh oh…what the hell is Big Brutus? This is not looking good.”
The next thing you know, one of the girls pulled back out the big black 12 inch rubber dildo with the spikes from earlier on the train. Then as if on cue, two others began unbuttoning my pants. I swear; you would’ve sworn that Liam Neeson had just announced for them to “Release the Kraken!”; because as soon as I looked up and saw that big black rubber dildo whipping back and forth in the wind; I thought to myself “Oh God, No!!!.” Panicked beyond belief, the only thing I could do was yell out “Jesus please be with me” right before I passed out cold. I guess my brain had seen enough episodes of OZ to realize that I probably wouldn’t want to be conscious for what was coming next. So just like when I was five, and my alcoholic grandmother used to breastfeed me, just so she could buy Colt 45 with the money my mother left for food; I went inside to my little happy place to hide until it was all done.
In the middle of being unconscious, I suddenly heard them saying, “Oh sh*t… we f*cked up! He really isn’t a lesbian.” When I came to seconds later, with my underwear still down to my ankles; the lesbians were all extremely apologetic saying repeatedly how sorry they were; and how it was an honest mistake; and that it really could’ve happened to anyone. But as I stood up to gather myself, I realized that they all seemed to be looking at me with judgment, and snickering. When I realized exactly what they were all laughing at, it absolutely infuriated me. I yelled “What the hell is so funny? Obviously this isn’t my normal size! I was scared! ” Hell, everyone knows that being petrified is just like being in water. It causes severe shrinkage. Still snickering as they walked away, they tried patronizing me by saying, “Hey man… it’s not a problem. We totally get it.” As I walked back home that night still battered and bruised, I declared in that moment that I absolutely hate all lesbians: what the hell do they know about penises anyway? And I can’t wait until I see another one on the train, so I can finally show them what my “normal” size looks like.
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It all started with a call from my friend Dave. Dave works part time at the local senior citizens home taking patients out for their daily walks. Some people walk dogs for a living; Dave walks old people. Apparently Dave had lost his wallet the night before, and was now stuck all the way in the Bronx. He explained that he would definitely be fired if he missed one more day at work, and then begged me to cover for him just this one time. He pleaded, “Please, I promise you it’s so easy. My patient’s name is Miss Clarabelle, and I swear she’s literally the sweetest old lady in the world. All you have to do is go take her on a walk around the block; and then to her favorite little diner on 7th Ave. She even pays for lunch, how simple is that?” Of course I’ve learned from experience that nothing is ever that simple with Dave. However as much as I had no desire to spend my whole Saturday afternoon “Walking Miss Daisy”, I couldn’t just let my friend lose his job. Mainly because then his stank feet would be on my couch for the next 3 months. So, I finally agreed to cover for his ass just this once, for 45 bucks and plus of course the free lunch.
When I arrived at the center, as promised Miss Clarabelle was already sitting in her chair ready to go. Miss Clarabelle was a little frail 75 year old white woman with varicose veins and smoking a huge cigar. With a big smile I introduced myself and explained that I would be replacing Dave for the day. To my surprise, she didn’t say a word. I assumed she had a bit of a hearing problem, so I repeated myself again much louder. Still, although she was looking right at me she said absolutely nothing. At that moment Miss Clarabelle’s day nurse walked in the room and said “Oh she heard just you fine. She’s just being difficult. She won’t say too much to you today at all. Although she may call you a spear chuckin’ nigger if she gets the notion. But pay her no mind.” I thought “Wow, this is just great. I’m stuck for the day babysitting Mel Gibson’s grandmother. Dave strikes again.” As I began helping Miss Clarabelle to her walker, the nurse turned to me and said “By the way, did Dave tell you? Because of Miss Clarabelle’s medical condition; she must go to the bathroom every single day at noon. If bowel gets backed up in her system, she could get real sick and die. Now she’s not going to remind you, because she absolutely hates to go. But it’s extremely important she does. She doesn’t have a choice.” I thought “Great, another thing that asshole conveniently forgot to include.” I swear it never pays to be nice. Miss Clarabelle and I then began our journey around the streets of Brooklyn.
I quickly learned that nothing on this entire planet is near as excruciating as trying to take an old 75 year old woman for a walk. Every single step seemed like an eternity. First, it would take everything she had just to scoot her little walker up literally a whole half an inch. Then, I’d have to sit there and watch patiently while she spent the next five minutes trying to catch up to it with her feet. Then if that wasn’t bad enough; every now and then she would somehow get confused and forget which way she was walking. This of course meant I’d have to wait an additional 6 minutes just for her to untangle her legs and head the right way again. Believe it or not, it took us close to 45 minutes just to make it out front to the sidewalk. Finally not able to take it anymore; as soon as we got out of eye range of the building; I placed Miss Clarabelle in the little built in seat and proceeded to push her the rest of the way. I figured at that rate, summer would be over by the time we made it back.
We finally arrived at the little diner around the block, and sat down for what had to be the most awkward lunch of my life. The entire time we ate, Miss Clarabelle just sat there and dog stared me in complete silence, while she gummed away at her little low sodium pretzel sticks she brought from home. I mean, you could literally hear a pin drop at the table. This lunch could not go by fast enough. I just happened to look at the clock and realize it was noon. Remembering the stiff warning I got from the nurse, I immediately sprung into action. The following is a transcript of our conversation:
Me: Uhhm Miss Clarabelle. You see the clock? It’s 12:00pm.
Clarabelle: So.
Me: Well, you have to go to the restroom right?
Clarabelle: No I don’t.
Me: But your nurse said you have to go every day at noon.
Clarabelle: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Me: She said it’s kind of crucial that you go, or else you’ll get sick.
Clarabelle: I don’t have to go. I went before we left.
Completely baffled, I’m now thinking “Well if she doesn’t have to go, I certainly can’t make her.” Just to be safe, I called up the nurse and informed her that she obviously didn’t have to go. The nurse then replied, “Don’t pay her any mind. She does this all the time. You need to make her go otherwise she will die.” I thought “WTF!! I basically had minutes to force Miss Clarabelle to go pee against her will; or else end up with an old dead white woman on my hands. What kind of a f*cked up Bruce Willis movie was this? I felt like I was starring in “Pee Hard 2 With a Vengeance”. This was not how I imagined my Saturday afternoon going. I finally took a deep breath; and then calmly explained, “Miss Clarabelle, I just spoke with your nurse. She says that you have to go to the restroom whether you want to or not. Now either we can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. It’s up to you?” Miss Clarabelle just looked away and began whistling like I wasn’t even there. I realized then that this was not going to be pretty.
Determined to save this old lady’s life, I stood up from my seat and exclaimed, “Okay Miss Clarabelle, time to go make water.” To my surprise, as slow as she moves; she suddenly jumped up without her walker and tried to make a mad dash for the door. Or at least her version of one. The diner was small and pretty narrow, with about 5 booths on each side and a little restroom back in the center of the room, just big enough for a toilet and a sink. With no other choice; I grabbed Miss Clarabelle by the arm, and literally began pulling her back to the restroom kicking and screaming. Now picture me; a little 5’6 Black guy; struggling to pull this 75 year old white woman into a public restroom against her will while everyone in the whole diner looks on. In that instant I thought, “Why does this sh*t always end up happening to me?” Of course being the only Black guy in the place, I could only imagine what was going through everyone’s head. I’m sure they all thought I was some perverted little geriatric rapist, out for some poontane at any cost. Any second now, I just knew someone was going to reach for their pepper spray. After about several minutes of us seriously struggling in the middle of this dining room; one of the ladies eating at the counter shouted out “The other guy usually just carries her in there. It’s much easier that way.” Then everyone went back to eating as if this happens every single day. I immediately thought, “I’m gonna kill that f*ckin Dave!” Then just as she suggested, I picked Clarabelle’s old ass up over my shoulders, and carried her into the restroom with her screaming and fighting.
Once inside the little bathroom stall, Clarabelle still refused to go. For the next 10 minutes I had to literally wrestle with her to get her panties and stockings down; while she tried to bite my hands with her dentures. I thought, “Man…this picture is wrong on soooo many levels.” As soon as I finally managed to get her little old lady stockings down below her saggy ass; she quickly crisscrossed her legs so I couldn’t get them down below her knees. This old brawd had skills. When I still didn’t give up, she yelled out “Rape! Rape! There’s a spear chuckin’ nigger in here trying to rape me!” I then heard a random female voice yell casually back from the other side, “Clarabelle honey, you know its noon! You have to go or you’ll get sick and die!” I guess Clarabelle finally exhausted herself out and decided to give in; and talk about “Thar she blows.” The second her old ass hit the seat it was like a giant pee bomb suddenly went off inside her vagina. Honestly, I had no idea pee could even shoot out at that velocity. And nothing on this entire planet, can compare to the odor of a 75 year old woman’s piss. The flies in the room even had a look on their faces like, “Man…what the f*ck is that?” I mean; I’ve even been tear gassed before, but tear gas had nothing on Miss Clarabelle’s piss. I could physically see the oxygen leaving the room. I quickly realized if that was what number 1 smelled like; there was no way in hell I was waiting around for number 2. Unable to hold my breath a second longer, I mustered up enough strength to say, “Miss Clarabelle I’m going to step out for a moment and give you your privacy.”
I went back to my seat and attempted to catch my breath for a few minutes. I seriously could not believe what I had just gone through. I immediately pulled out my phone and tried to call Dave, but of course that bastard was nowhere to be found. I eventually calmed down when I realized that as crazy as that whole ordeal was; I was just beyond grateful that the difficult part was now at least over. I thought, “Finally, I can finish up my little lunch in peace.” Just then; the bathroom door suddenly swings wide open; and Miss Clarabelle is sitting there on the toilet with her panties down to her ankles, for the whole world to see. Then… at the top of her lunges; she yells out,”Okay I’m done. You can come wipe me now!!!”
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